Allergy
by Stephane Richer
Summary: His breathing is labored and his nose and eyes itch like hell and worst of all is this feeling that's best described as half nausea and half arousal, an ache deep within him that he just can't get rid of or even get accustomed to


Allergy

Disclaimer: don't own

Notes: Day 8 of the 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge by ghiraher on tumblr: sex pollen

* * *

It's hard to see out of his swollen red eyes but he manages to dig around in his pocket for his keys and unlock the door. Midorima's about to announce his arrival but instead he sneezes loudly—he's already run out of tissues from the pack in his pocket so he wipes his nose on his sleeve and swears under his breath. No matter how far away he gets from the lab nothing's changed; this damn allergic reaction hasn't even begun to fade. His breathing is labored and his nose and eyes itch like hell and worst of all is this feeling that's best described as half nausea and half arousal, an ache deep within him that he just can't get rid of or even get accustomed to; it's as if his senses are heightened and everything makes him sicker and more turned on. His head is pounding; he leans against the wall and then sneezes again.

"Shin?"

Aomine peers out from the kitchen doorway, and as soon as Midorima meets his eyes he feels another wave of dizziness, of blood suddenly rushing away from his head. This is less nauseating and more arousing, not that it's much of a choice—and he can barely see Aomine's face. What kind of shameless pervert has this reaction turned him into?

Aomine walks over to him and Midorima's throat constricts; Aomine touches his shoulder and he positively melts, sighing into the touch—the noise sounds so lewd to his ears that he outwardly cringes, but Aomine's hands feel so good that he just wants to dispense of his clothes and offer himself up to Aomine like a sacrifice, for at least then this would end.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Midorima shoves Aomine away, taking a few long and wheezing breaths and squeezing his eyes shut until the dizziness fades enough.

"Allergic reaction."

He's had them before (an unfortunately unavoidable aspect of being a botanist), but none like this in nature or severity; a few rare vines have given him rashes and a few strange weeds have left him sneezing and sniffling for several hours after he's left the lab but nothing has made his stomach turn or made him in any way aroused. If similar symptoms hadn't presented themselves in several coworkers he'd think there was something seriously wrong and as it is it feels wrong and he feels so damn disgusting.

"This is an allergic reaction."

Midorima gives Aomine what he hopes is an exasperated look.

"They let you leave like this?"

"It got worse."

"When you were away from the…plant thing?" He waves his hand.

"It's your fault I'm more...excited."

"What?"

"The pollen produced by this plant apparently causes a variety of reactions on contact. For me that's nausea, sneezing, throat tightness, watery eyes, and sexual arousal."

"What the fuck?" Aomine glances downward.

"No, I'm not hard," says Midorima (and it's pretty much a miracle considering the close contact with so many people on the train, touching him in sensitive spots—and it's unavoidable when every spot is this sensitive).

Aomine leans closer, staring into Midorima's eyes and sliding his hand up under Midorima's shirt. "How about now?"

Midorima half-moans before breaking into another sneeze. His body jerks back and up against Aomine's hand again and he is most definitely getting hard now.

"Well, shit," says Aomine.

"Shut up," says Midorima, pulling Aomine closer and leaning against the wall; the heat from Aomine's body is driving him absolutely wild right now and he's surprised he can still string together a sentence, even one this short.

"Make me," says Aomine.

At any other time Midorima would explain that he does not have time to play these stupid games but right now kissing him brings Midorima one step closer to release so he just does it; Aomine tastes maddeningly intoxicating and so good against Midorima's swollen lips, like he's so close to being satiated, like this will make the fever break if he just kisses him a little harder but he runs out of breath too soon and parts his lips, throwing his head back and panting. Aomine's hands are still roaming on his body and it's too damn slow; he can't waste his breath on talking right now so he unbuttons his own shirt, sighing as Aomine's fingers brush across his stomach again and he shrugs off the shirt.

He bucks his hips against Aomine's; Aomine lets out a squawk and Midorima does it again; the friction is wonderful. He needs something to do with his shaking hands; he reaches out and grabs onto Aomine's t-shirt, fisting the sides.

"Easy, easy," murmurs Aomine, reaching an arm around his back; the sensation of flesh against flesh is so intense that Midorima moans again.

Aomine's licking and biting his neck and shoulders and Midorima can barely hold on to his shirt, bracing himself against the wall and trying to grind their hips together again but thrusting into the empty air instead. He whines and Aomine sinks his teeth harder into his shoulder.

"Hold on a sec."

Aomine's free hand is tugging at Midorima's belt; Midorima's eyes flutter open. Aomine's fumbling but eventually he gets Midorima's fly unzipped and his hand just barely misses brushing Midorima's cock through his underwear and Midorima lets out a small sigh. Aomine shoves down his own pants and boxers; his cock is swollen and throbbing already and Midorima doesn't have time to properly take in the sight before Aomine reaches into Midorima's underwear and pulls out Midorima's already-leaking cock; his fingers feel amazing and Midorima whimpers.

"Damn."

Midorima tugs on Aomine's shirt and Aomine fists their cocks together and begins to pump, his other arm around Midorima's back pulling them closer against each other. The proximity and the friction from Aomine against him is making Midorima's awareness deteriorate rapidly. It feels like forever before he finally comes, screaming and slumping into deadweight in Aomine's arms. Aomine comes right after, rolling his hips into Midorima's one final time with a muffled shout of Midorima's name.

* * *

Midorima's head is much clearer; satisfying his sexual desires seems to have somehow purged his body of all the lingering effects of this horrible pollen—or maybe it was the shower afterward, but at this point he doesn't actually care, not when he's in bed next to Aomine and his body has finally calmed itself down.

Aomine pulls the blankets tighter around them and lets his arm settle snugly around Midorima's waist.

"I have to admit it was hot, though."

Midorima can hear the smirk in his words; he huffs and debates pinching Aomine's hand—but it's probably more trouble than it's worth. Right now he's so tired and it's so nice to not feel the constant agitation and heightened sensitivity, the absence of which he's never been as grateful for as he is in this moment.

Aomine nuzzles his shoulder. "Can you breathe okay?"

"Yes."

Not only are his senses back to normal, his throat seems to be cleared and the swelling in his eyes has gone down and he's stopped feeling like he has to sneeze every five seconds.

"Daiki?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

Aomine laughs and pulls Midorima closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. It's more than the lack of discomfort; it's the familiar weight of Aomine's arm and the sound of his voice and his breathing, the feeling of those smooth lips against his neck and their interlaced fingers—it feels good; it feels really good, better than good, actually, but he's too tired to find an appropriate word so he squeezes Aomine's hand and closes his eyes.


End file.
